


That Time When...

by fauxfillorian



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: All The Ships, Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, High School, M/M, Senior year, Tropes, all the feels, dudes idk it's magicians in highschool, one big polyamorous family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-01 01:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxfillorian/pseuds/fauxfillorian
Summary: A mean girl, a stoner, two overachievers, a nerd, a creative and a rebel.After four years of break ups, make ups, betrayals, friendships and missed connections, they've made it to senior year, but the secrets they've held along the way are itching to get out. Like what exactly happened at that sophomore year party?Welcome to Chatwin Prep where everyone hates everyone. But is in love with them, too.
Relationships: Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn, Margo Hanson/Josh Hoberman, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Alice Quinn, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Julia Wicker, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz, literally all of them - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter One - Present

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, all the ships. 
> 
> This story will be told in Present and Past chapters for the time being and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> (Also, pity boners are not actual boners, they’re just like…pity. This is vital information, I promise. Don’t come for me.)

_ Happy Birthday, Quentin Coldwater. _

It was hung across the front of his locker in bold cut-out letters made of bright construction paper with streamers spilling out through the sides and onto the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut in mortification as a Dick, all dressed up in his letterman jacket, kicked the decoration on his way past.

“Happy birthday,” the boy sneered before clasping his hands together under his chin as if saying a prayer. “Makepeace,” he finished, earning a laugh from the other thick-headed football players surrounding him.

The day the jocks had learned Quentin’s middle name had been a dark one. All thanks to his mom very loudly scolding him in the parking lot sophomore year, full name included, for coming to school a tiny but very obvious amount hungover and getting sent home for it.

_ Sorry, Q _ , was all Julia had said. The party was her idea, of course. And Quentin had forgiven her, of course. But he was thinking it might take more than a new Fillory edition and an apology to make up for this bold display she’d set up.

It had to be her. He didn’t have any other friends.

Although this kind of seemed the work of an enemy.

“You’re finally legal.”

Quentin jumped at the whisper in his ear, turning to see Julia. Effervescent, gorgeous, nearly glowing Julia.

“Morning. Vote for Julia!” she said, offering one of the fliers tucked under her arm to a junior in passing. “So, Q- Vote for Julia!” Another flier. “Oop! One second, Q,” she started, spotting someone over his shoulder.

Quentin opened his locker and pried the tape off the banner, stuffing it inside as gently as he could without ripping it even though he kind of wanted to. It was a nice gesture but for the wrong person. It’s what Julia would have wanted, not him.

Quentin traded out the books in his bag for the ones he needed for morning classes, moving slowly so he didn’t have to awkwardly wait for Julia to finish or, god forbid, go join her conversation. He peeked past his locker to spy her talking to another senior, Todd, who, like most people, fell at her feet. No doubt she was persuading him to pass out fliers for her. And he would do it, even though he was already doing the same for Margo Hanson and Eliot Waugh as well.

“Sorry,” Julia breathed when she finally returned, pulling her best friend into a hug. “We’re in crunch time with the election.” She pulled back and brushed some stray hairs off Quentin’s face, smiling as she took him in. “How are you? You feel different?” Julia looped her arm through his as they started off down the hall.

“I still feel like me except closer to baldness,” Quentin replied. Julia smiled and peeked back at the tiny messy bun at the back of his head.

“It’s a good thing you’ve been saving up then,” she said tugging it. “You think your dick got bigger?” she joked.

Quentin bit back a smile and pretended to limp. “My pants do feel a bit tight today.”

“When aren’t your pants tight, you hipster- Jesus!”

Julia jumped aside just in time to avoid a collision as a blur rounded the corner, racing down the hall on a skateboard.

Penny turned briefly to offer a two fingered salute to Julia before pumping his way down the hall, ducking and swerving around his fellow students, barking a “Move!” when they took too long to clear his path.

Unlike most other mornings, the main office door was wide open with Fogg standing just inside the doorway, a large gust from Penny’s travelling hitting him in the face.

“Shit,” Penny mumbled, pushing harder to gain speed. The last thing he needed was another lecture this early in the fucking morning.

“Adiyodi!” Fogg barked behind him but Penny was already nearing the end of the hall. He was bending his knees, readying to turn down the right hall when a blonde body shot out and crashed right into him, knocking them both to the ground.

The papers she was carrying flew in the air and fell slowly like snowflakes cascading to the ground around them.

“Oh, shit,” Penny repeated, taking in the blonde’s face. He couldn’t tell if she was going to scream, cry or fight him but he’d seen Alice Quinn do all three and none were particularly desirable. “Sorry,” he said, scrambling to try and collect the pages again, making a messy pile of the sheets while Alice sat frozen, in disbelief at her luck.

“Yo, Alice, you okay?” Penny asked, getting no response. “Hey, you!” he yelled to a curly haired boy at the end of the hall. The boy turned, looked around wide eyed and then jabbed a finger at his chest as if to say,  _ me?  _ “Yes, you. Come. Here.”

By now, Alice was on hands and knees, trying to salvage her papers before they got stepped on any more than they already had been. She smoothed out the pages, grimacing when she found a few ripped.

“What’s your name? Tim?” Penny questioned, standing close enough for the boy to see the threat in his eyes.

“Todd,” he corrected with a gulp. Penny bent down and collected the stack from the floor, pressing it against Todd’s chest.

“You’re gonna hang these up for me,” Penny told him. Todd blinked, thinking about the three piles of campaign posters he already had in his locker.

“I can’t. I already ha-”

“You’re gonna hang these up for me,” Penny repeated, gripping the boy by the soft fabric of his vest to bring him closer.

“I’m gonna hang these up for you,” Todd nodded, offering a tight smile.

“Good man,” Penny smiled back sarcastically, patting him on the shoulders. “Off you go.” Alice straightened her dress as she stood, ignoring the hand Penny was offering to help her up.

“I don’t really want someone bullied into hanging my fliers,” she told him, adjusting her glasses. “That’s not my platform.”

“Oh, that’s not your  _ platform _ ?” Penny mocked with a teasing smirk. Alice tucked her hair behind her ear and avoided his gaze like she always did whenever he got that  _ I know what you look like naked _ look on his face.

“No, it’s not. Excuse me,” she said brusquely, stepping around him. He caught her elbow.

“Hey, Quinn. I’m sorry,” he said again. Alice pursed her lips. If he really was, he’d stop riding through the halls like an idiot every morning, stop giving her that look, stop taking every chance he could to be a dick for the sake of attention. “No ‘thank you’?” Penny asked, dropping his board and readying to push off again.

Alice gave him a brief frosty look and then glanced around the corner when something caught her eye. “Fogg is coming,” she warned shortly and then disappeared down the hall.

“Shit.” Penny ran and ducked into the stairwell, taking them two at a time.

“Ms. Quinn,” Fogg greeted, rushing past her after Penny.

“Mr. Fogg,” she nodded, clutching her books to her chest. The warning bell rang as she reached the blue door of her first class,  FL404. It was the last level of the foreign language classes everyone was required to take at Chatwin Prep. They’d started with things like Spanish and Latin and worked their way up to Turkish and Czech, and even an optional Klingon as a separate class elective for seniors.

Someone brushed Alice’s hand away from the knob and yanked the door open with their own perfectly manicured fingers.

“Hey, Quinny,” Margo’s pink lips grinned deviously. She was flanked, of course, by her best bitch Eliot Waugh who towered over them both and kept his eyes fixed on the spot over Alice’s head lest he make eye contact and she catch the guilt there. After all, they used to be best bitches, too.

“Margo,” Alice mumbled.

“How’s the campaign going?” Margo taunted. “You must be a shoo-in.”

“It’s fine,” Alice responded, trying to get around her. Margo pressed the door closed.

“Just fine?” she pouted, looking Alice over. “Well, I’m rooting for you. Just get all those friends of yours to vote for you. Oh wait…” she trailed off, smirking. She opened the door again and finally let Alice duck inside. “Too harsh?” she asked Eliot, backing against the door and peering up at him.

He pressed forward, flicking a curl over her shoulder. “Like you care,” he smiled fondly, his thumb brushing at her lips, righting a wayward smudge of lipstick.

“I know you’ve got a pity-boner for her,” Margo responded, watching his face carefully.

“Is that what you think?” he replied coyly. 

“No. I said I  _ know _ ,” she deadpanned.

Eliot sighed. “History is history,” he told her, cupping her face and pressing a loud kiss on her forehead.

“We’re present and future,” she smiled, satisfied, twining their fingers together as they slipped into class right before the final bell.

The door closed and the lock clicked just as Kady Orloff-Diaz reached it. She banged on the glass, drawing the class’ attention but Mr. Sankerson motioned to the watch on his thick wrist and shrugged, gesturing for her to go get a late slip. Which would be her third this week. Which would mean she’d have Friday detention. Again.

She kicked the door once, hard, and then swiveled, trudging to the office, tightening the plaid shirt around her waist as she went.

She flopped down in the hard plastic chair and waited for the office assistant to be finished with a phone call, grateful at least that she wasn’t in Fogg’s office today and hadn’t been for the last week, a new record.

Speak of the devil. Fogg’s door opened behind the desk, and he stepped out of the glass box of an office, followed by Penny. Kady had only seen him in passing and sulked next to him in the back of a few classes over the years, never speaking but always thinking he looked familiar.

He breezed past Fogg, looking annoyed as he headed her way, heavy black boots thumping on the floor, brown scarf billowing with his wind. His eyes swept over her from her Doc Martens to the grey tank to the curls peeking from beneath her black beanie.

“Nice hat,” he nodded on his way past.

“Nice scarf,” she responded and she meant it but it came out snarky instead. Penny scoffed and shoved the door open. 


	2. Chapter Two - Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia drags Q to a party. Big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that we're switching between past and present! Welcome to sophomore year...

_ Sophomore Year, 2 years earlier… _

* * *

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Quentin finally voiced the thought that had been echoing through his head ever since Julia managed to convince him to come. By convince, she’d asked twice, really nicely and while wearing the face Quentin had been in love with for years.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Julia repeated like the words were ridiculous. “Why shouldn’t you be here?”

The house they were approaching was grand and gorgeous, all the lights on in the intricate, tall windows, and the silky curtains, behind which silhouettes were dancing, seeming to billow in some soft wind. It was a mansion. In a neighborhood so rich there’d be no noise complaints because the properties were so large, you needed to drive to visit your next-door neighbor.

The music was thumping inside, every hit of the bass knocking Quentin’s heart against his chest. These were not his people. He didn’t have people. He had person. And she was right next to him.

“We can’t just walk in,” Quentin tried again as they drew closer to the steps. “We weren’t invited.”

“It’s a high school house party, Q.  _ No one _ was invited.”

“It’s Margo Hanson’s house. You hate her.”

“I don’t hate her,” Julia disagreed. “I would just guiltlessly let her choke to death if the situation arose.”

Quentin was running out of excuses and the door was right there, feet away, red and expensive looking. Julia’s hand raised to reach for the knob.

“Please,” he said pathetically, grabbing her arm. A last resort. “We can go home and watch Watcherwoman theory videos on the subreddit.”

“Quentin,” Julia sighed, turning to her best friend. “We’re 16 now. No more Fillory, ok?”

Quentin’s brows furrowed. “So, a couple months ago when we were puny and 15 maybe but now– what? We’ve magically evolved?”

“No,” Julia started, catching the fire in his tone and stamping it out with a quick caress of his face. “Now we’re older and you can entertain yourself with other things – like girls,” she offered him. “Or boys, no judgement-”

“Ugh,” Quentin groaned, opening the door himself. Julia’s laughter rang behind him, her hands coming up to land on his shoulders with a squeeze. She’d caught him with a certain browser page open a few months ago and had been teasing him ever since.

Quentin couldn’t explain to himself or anyone why he clicked on That video that day when there was a slew of the types of videos he normally watched alone in his room right next to it but without the slick and soft looking skin of the blond man in the thumbnail.

His finger slipped. His hand slipped. His mind wandered. He got caught.

Julia catching him was somehow worse than if his parents had. His parents would have been mortified, just as much or more than him. They’d have maybe pulled him aside and talked about ‘coming to terms with his growing body’ and the ‘urges’ it might bring on.

But Julia catching him…

Julia, his best friend and the girl he was head over heels for? He thought for sure that if he ever stood a chance, he’d ruined it then. How could she want him if she thought she wasn’t his type and never would be? After all, he never dated, never expressed crushes. The only time Julia knew of Quentin acting like a human with urges was when she found him enraptured and watching gay porn.

“See?” Julia said, wrapping an arm around Quentin’s shoulders, hanging off him as she kicked the door shut. “It’s not so bad.”

It was so bad.

So many people packed into the living room, spilling out into the hall. So much noise, so much chaos.

And Margo Hanson wasn’t so rich that she didn’t use red solo cups. They were everywhere, in every hand and Quentin knew what they were housing. And if the night wasn’t going to end with Julia drunkenly confessing her undying love for him then what precisely would be the point in drinking.

“I hate this,” he said as Julia grabbed his hand.

“Come on, Mr. Curmudgeon, let’s see if we can change your mind,” she said, leading him through the crowd, toward what turned out to be the kitchen.

It was ridiculous in there too. The floor was sticky and it smelled like too many people and too little deodorant.

On the counter, along with several people’s asses, was a buffet of alcohol, even some ritzy looking bottles of wine chilling in ice.

“What do you think, Q? Beer, wine, or something heartburn-y?” Julia asked, picking up a bottle of something clear.

“I’m not drinking,” he replied. “You shouldn’t either. Have you forgotten the fact we have to go home? Sober?”

“I told your mom you’re spending the night with me and do you think my parents will notice anything about me? Let alone if I’m stumbling?” she questioned.  _ Sexy is the man whose mom doesn’t even worry about him sleeping over at a girl’s house _ , Quentin thought. “We’re drinking. Please?” Julia added. She poured what she guessed to be a shot into two cups. It was more like a triple.

“Julia.” Quentin took his cup, frowned up at the near-chemical smell that met his nose. “This is lighter fluid.”

“I know, right? It smells like shit. But I want to take my first shot with my best friend. One for the books!”

She knew him well. Knew he liked making memories with her, liked collecting firsts with her even more. You never forgot your first anything. He was desperate to cement himself in Julia’s memories so even if they drifted apart, he would still matter to her.

When Julia let the cup touch her lips, Quentin was already mirroring her as she knew he would. When she tipped her head back and downed it all, she grimaced and swallowed in rhythm with Quentin until they both came up for air, frowning, on the verge of puking and teetering on the edge of deep regret.

“Jesus Christ, that’s awful,” Quentin said, to which Julia nodded her agreement.

“Next time, beer,” she decided. “No more of whatever that was.”

“Next time?”

“Let’s go search for shitty baby pictures of Margo,” Julia interrupted, taking his hand again.

Quentin always tried not to think much of the hand holding or the hair stroking or the face caressing because he knew it meant nothing. It couldn’t have. Because if Julia liked him, then surely she knew he loved her back and if they both knew then why the standstill?

Julia dragged Quentin through the party and down halls. “Did you see the room when we were walking up? The one no one was in? It looked like a study. That’s where rich people keep their pictures, right?”

Quentin laughed. “I think that’s the rule. All incriminating and embarrassing things in the study.” He was starting to feel a little unsure on his feet. “I’m excited to see my first real silver letter opener,” he joked as they arrived in front of a white door. 

Julia threw her head back laughing and swayed a little, once. “Holy shit. That stuff’s strong,” she declared in such a matter of fact way that Quentin dissolved into giggles, his first drinks hitting him all at once. Julia and Quentin held on to each other to stay upright as they laughed until they scarcely remembered what started them off in the first place.

Julia finally twisted the knob she’d been braced on and they spilled into the study, wiping their eyes.

And then Quentin stilled. Because they weren’t alone.

And because Julia wasn’t the only one he’d been in love with for years.

Less emphatically and in a more realistic way, Quentin Coldwater had been in love with Alice Quinn since the sixth grade.

Julia had been out sick the day it started. Her absence meant Quentin was sitting alone at lunch. And to top it all off, he’d forgotten his food in his mom’s car.

So he sat there lonely, embarrassed and starving until Alice, in a pristine blue skirt and Maryjane shoes, walked over and slapped down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She didn’t say a word to him and she never had. She kept walking, almost like she hadn’t done a thing, and disappeared into the hall.

Quentin thought about it everyday for the rest of the year. As he got older and still found himself fixated on her and that day, he wondered if maybe he wouldn’t have cared so much if she’d just said  _ something _ to him. Even if she only said, ‘here’, maybe he wouldn’t have carried the moment around in his pocket, painting and repainting it, letting it mature and grow inside him until it became a full-blown crush.

Another useless crush.

Because she’d already broken his heart.

On the last day of sixth grade, Quentin vowed to himself that he would thank Alice for the sandwich. He’d been working up to it and practicing how to say the two words for months. At the last minute, he decided to return the favor, so he snuck a few pieces of bacon off his plate that morning at breakfast, stashed them between two slices of bread, added a weak smear of mayonnaise and zipped it into a baggie.

When lunch came, he only had a second to see her before Julia appeared, so he walked up to Alice’s table where she, until recently, usually sat alone. Eliot Waugh had just moved to town and he and Alice, though seemingly polar opposites, had latched onto each other, a much grimmer, more stoic version of Quentin and Julia.

Quentin placed the baggie down in front of Alice and stuttered through a thank you, one that grew more pathetic the longer she looked up at him with those wide blue eyes, and then left as quickly as possible.

He hardly talked to Julia at lunch, so nervous he couldn’t even eat. And when the bell rang, he watched Eliot and Alice leave, watched Alice dump her tray, watched the plastic baggie, with two untouched slices of bread, get tossed into the trash can.

He’d experienced the pinching pain of being dumped before he’d ever even had a relationship.

And he’d done a good job sneaking only glances at the blonde over the years, the two still never having had a conversation, never having done anything more than be awkward classmates.

So, when he and Julia tripped into the study and Alice and Eliot were huddled in a corner, staring back at them, the alcohol in his system felt like it was curdling.

She’d never been so close and they’d never been this alone together in a small room and Julia and Alice…well, the only times Quentin saw them in such proximity were in class or in his dreams.

Suffice it to say, it was a big moment for him.

“Hi, Alice,” Quentin said, managing to grab Julia and shut the door before he vomited, quite thoroughly, into the large potted plant in the hall.

On the other side of the door, Eliot and Alice listened to the embarrassment. Eliot swilled the wine around in his cup and gingerly brought it up to his mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next up: Bathrooms, aggression and healthy coping mechanisms...


	3. Chapter Three - Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathrooms, inspiration and Penny's just trying to be nice...

_Present Day…_

The ball soared over the net and thumped Surendra in the back of the head.

Kady had already spiked another ball over before the dark-haired boy could turn around and give her a glare. She was in a bad mood. Clearly.

Surendra was the fifth classmate to be attacked by one of Kady’s serves. She’d already amassed a cluster of enemies keeping their distance on the other side of the net, including Eliot and the new exchange student, Fen, who’d been the only one to ever return a serve, soon realizing it was a mistake when Kady sent it flying back.

“Orloff!” Coach Demir barked, navigating around a thick auburn beard to blow his whistle. “Cool it. Take a lap!” She flipped him off before she could catch herself. “Take _two_ laps!”

She finished the two laps in no time, sprinting around the outskirts of the gym, shoes squeaking on the waxed floor. The exhaustion was the first excuse she’d had to breathe all day. She had Friday detention, her mom hadn’t come home last night, the pile of bills was growing by the door... Jesus Christ, she needed a break.

“Bathroom?” she yelled to Demir over the quick, hustling sounds of her classmates. He fanned a hand at her, a _whatever just get out of my gym_ gesture and she ducked from the room.

Kady pressed herself against the wall by the door, trying to steady her breathing. She should be used to this by now. She pulled the hair tie from her head, the tightness on her scalp making her feel even more suffocated. Wiping sweat from her neck, Kady tied the bottom of her shirt in a knot, celebrating the air that hit the newly exposed sliver of skin on her stomach.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Kady squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t need to look to know whose voice it was. Of course _she’d_ catch her in the middle of a freak out. That was exactly how fair life was.

She forced indifference into her tone.

“Shouldn’t you be solving world hunger or something?”

Kady tilted her head to watch Julia staple something to an already crowded spot on a bulletin board down the hall. Probably more posters though, god knows, there were already enough all over campus.

“Nice pantsuit,” Kady complimented, voice coated in sarcasm. Julia stalled to look down at her black pinstripe pants and silk cream shirt.

“Nice shorts,” Julia responded, taking in the blue and gold Chatwin Prep pattern situated snuggly against Kady’s long, pale legs. Julia’s eyes flicked back up to Kady’s, narrowed with a devious intent. “You busy?”

Kady pushed off the wall, hating herself for the _yes please!_ in the movement. But Julia saw nothing but confidence in the way Kady moved. As much as Kady felt like the prey in Julia’s game, Julia had resigned herself to letting Kady be the predator in hers.

“You bored?” Kady finally responded. Both girls glanced around the hallway before Kady motioned in the direction of the girl’s bathroom with a jut of her chin and grabbed Julia’s wrist, the two of them disappearing inside.

The stalls empty – they checked – and the lock clicked, the two girls fell into each other, no breath between their bodies or mouths. Julia’s hands exploring that sliver of skin on Kady’s waist, and Kady’s thumbs tucked into the back of Julia’s pants until caution turned to full handed grabs of her ass, they gave into the pull.

Far from the eyes of the school and the pressure of reputation, they fell together.

Across the hall, Eliot offered Fen a hand and helped her to her feet.

“You don’t _have_ to be so aggressive,” he said. She’d just responded to Todd’s serve with such tenacity, she lost her balance and fell on her ass.

“I enjoy these Earth sports,” she smiled before catching Eliot’s confused look. “I mean New York sports, global sports, sports everyone has played. Sports _I_ have _certainly_ played. I love sports,” she rambled frantically. “Don’t you?”

Coach blew his whistle a final time, cutting short Eliot’s curious glance at Fen. She was always saying shit like that. If he cared more, he’d be suspicious but she was Margo’s problem. She’d been staying with her for the last two weeks as part of the exchange program. Margo thought it would help her campaign if she was seen as ‘generous’ for offering a place for the girl to stay. Though how interesting could the student body find a girl from Utah? At least that’s where Fen said she was from.

“Will you be coming to Margo’s again for dinner?” Fen asked as she and Eliot headed for the locker rooms.

“Fen, I come for dinner every night,” he responded dryly. She asked every day.

“Right. You know what I was thinking?” she started. “We should invite Quentin Coldwater!”

Eliot tripped on something invisible and halted Fen with an arm across her chest. “Why would we do that?” His heart was thundering. What did she know? Why him? _What did she know?_

Fen’s eyes went wide. “Well, he seems nice and he’s…nice?” she struggled. “Do you not get along?”

He could have laughed. “No. We- I don’t think Margo would want him in her house,” he scrambled. 

“No, but Margo’s nice.”

“Margo’s _nice_?”

“Well, nice-ish,” Fen amended. “Just think about it. It could be fun!” she smiled.

“Yea,” Eliot scoffed. “Fun.”

* * *

Eliot couldn’t get the sour look off his face for the next three periods. They were even free painting in Art today and it still wasn’t enough to cheer him up. Especially since Quentin Coldwater was three stools away doing a very awful sketch of a bowl of fruit.

Not to mention Alice Quinn was in the next row up, stark straight, pristinely painted strokes on her easel creating a dark and starry night. There was no passion in the piece but there was expertise, the kind of expertise that lacked emotion but flouted skill.

Eliot was the opposite. His wrists were splattered with paint, he was so involved in his work. If he wanted to, he could have made the same perfect lines as Alice but he wasn’t painting for a grade, he was painting because he loved it.

His bedroom walls were filled with sketches and artwork, his shelves were chock full of things he’d sculpted. It was his out, it was his in, it was his everything.

“This is beautiful work, Eliot.” Ms. Pike laid a warm hand on his shoulder as she stopped beside him to contemplate the picture. He’d thrown several slashes across the image of purple sock and buskin masks so that the vibrant color had faded into a muddy brown in some places before being taken over by an earthy green. It was primal and wild, sad and darkly hopeful, the smiling face peeking through where the sunken eyes could not see.

He’d already signed the painting as done but was still trailing his brush languidly across the canvas, leaving a teal streak beneath the masks like a frayed ribbon hanging on.

“Beautiful,” she repeated. Eliot offered her a weak smile as she walked off. The second her back was turned, he rooted around in the small pouch on his bookbag and, ducking low, took a deep swig from his flask.

“Beautiful,” he sighed contently.

Inspiration left Ms. Pike’s face as she neared Quentin.

“Mr. Coldwater. You don’t have to paint fruit _every_ day, you know that right?” Quentin stalled his brush on the canvas where he’d just begun filling in an orange.

“It’s the only thing I know how to paint,” he said miserably. A glance at his canvas and it was apparent even that wasn’t true.

“Why not try something from memory? Or perhaps something from the, what is it, Emory books you love?” If the t-shirts he wore almost every single day weren’t enough of a hint, the books he always read before class were.

“Fillory,” he corrected. “It’s Fillory. But I just- I don’t think I can- I wouldn’t want to mess up anything from them,” he said.

“Right,” Ms. Pike nodded, entertaining him. “Well, what about- Ms. Quinn! Perhaps you could help?”

Quentin and Alice both stiffened.

Alice braced herself before glancing over her shoulder at them, careful to look at Ms. Pike and not Quentin.

“Yes?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t mind helping Quentin find inspiration for his piece, would you? You’re working from memory, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Alice answered robotically.

“Great. Quentin, go hop on the stool next to her and you two work it out,” Ms. Pike instructed before continuing on to another student.

With all the sluggishness and mechanical energy of someone who really does not want to, Quentin collected his things, slid off his chair, and made his way to Alice.

Eliot glanced up at the scene and promptly finished the contents of his flask.

“Hi, Alice,” Quentin mumbled awkwardly, sitting beside her. Alice’s _mmhmm_ got caught in her throat and came out a squeak instead.

Neither spoke again for the rest of the period.

* * *

“We’re not doing Be Aggressive, Poppy, this isn’t 19-fucking-99,” Margo yelled, dipping a fry in ketchup. She squinted a hard glare in the red head’s direction as the sun beat down over them. The quad was bustling, full of students eating lunch and talking, the chattering reduced to a buzz.

This cheerleading shit was getting on her nerves. The only reason she even stayed on the team was because it gave her something to have dominion over. And she looked damn good in the skirt.

“Okay, well, it’s not as if you’ve thrown out any ideas. We need new cheers. Our shit is washed up,” Poppy complained.

“You think our shit is washed up?” Margo questioned. “You can aggressively S-U-C-K my dick. Leave,” she barked.

Poppy scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Remind me of a time I joked with you.”

Poppy collected her tray, rolling her eyes at her captain, and climbed off the bench. “Bitch.”

“And don’t forget it!” Margo yelled after her. Eliot slid onto the empty seat, straddling the bench. “I hate everyone but you.”

He pressed his forehead against her shoulder and nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“You drunk?” she wondered, holding a fry near him. He turned his head to bite at it, nipping her fingers.

“Mmhmm.”

“You save me some?” she asked, combing her hand through his soft curls, smiling when he hummed in contentment. Eliot sat back and fixed sunglasses on his face before pouting and shaking his head.

“I forgive you,” Margo said, scooting her tray his way. “Eat,” she ordered. “We have Yearbook after school today remember?”

He groaned. “More reason to drink.”

Margo huffed. “Babe, you’re supposed to be trying to win this election. It’s no fun if you don’t try.” She lifted his chin with the tip of her finger and pulled his sunglasses down his nose. His eyes were watery, red and low. “No one’s gonna vote for this.”

When he and Margo had decided to run against each other, they thought it’d be a nice bout of competitive fun. A good laugh. The sort of antagonistic camaraderie they’d come to expect from each other. But almost immediately Eliot lost interest in the whole thing.

Maybe it was around the time he thought about what would happen if he actually won, maybe it was around the time he thought about what would happen if he actually lost to Margo, maybe it was around the time he spotted Alice’s name on the ballot and realized how shit it’d be to take something else from her for the sake of enjoyment.

“I don’t want to have to listen to Josh Hoberman sober,” Eliot moaned.

“Pfft. Amen to that,” Margo agreed.

“So we ditch?”

“No,” Margo said, pushing his sunglasses back so he couldn’t give her his puppy-dog stare. “Extracurriculars look good on your college applications.”

“You don’t need extracurriculars, you’re rich and brilliant and we’ve already established I’m gonna be your sugar baby for the rest of forever. No pamphlet needed.”

Margo laughed. “That is the plan, isn’t it?”

“Move!”

Margo and Eliot turned to watch a group of juniors jump out of Penny’s way as he grinded down the rail of the stairs leading into the building and continued kick-pushing through the crowd.

“I hate him so much.”

“Didn’t you have sex with him last night?” Eliot asked.

“Exactly.”

Eliot laughed, finishing the last bite of Margo’s burger as Penny neared the table.

“Hanson,” Penny greeted bluntly. “Eliot.” Eliot offered a peace sign, drinking deeply from Margo’s bottle of water. “Busy tonight?”

“Why? You feening?” Margo smirked.

“For you?” He sucked his teeth. “Nah. Being charitable.”

“Please,” she dismissed. “I could have any dick I wanted.”

Penny pressed his fists into the table and leaned over her. “Oh yea? Then why’d you call _me_?”

Margo sat back and crossed her arms, unbothered by his attempt at intimidation. “I was in the mood for delinquent last night.”

“Sure,” he straightened up. “So. Y’all need?” he glanced to Eliot, switching topics.

“We bought from Josh,” Eliot replied.

“You fuckin serious?” Penny asked, insulted. “How much?”

“Twenty. For uppers,” Margo told him.

“Oh, yea, I don’t hold that,” Penny said. He was a strictly weed man and usually only offered to share what he had to a few niche people. He wasn’t a dealer by any means, he practically gave the shit away. “You trying to smoke then?”

“Jesus. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were lonely,” Margo jabbed.

“Fuck off, man. I’m just trying to be nice. Later,” he said shortly, taking off again.

“Too harsh?” Margo asked once Penny was gone. Eliot burst into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Who's your favorite character so far? Next up, awkward stoners and lonely queens...


	4. Chapter Four - Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady wears camo and Margo makes an entrance.

_Sophomore Year, 2 Years Earlier…_

Kady swept her hand down the leg of her pants but all she did was make the stain worse.

She had no idea what she’d brushed up against but she knew it wouldn’t easily come out of her camo-cargo pants. She practically kicked through the red door of Margo’s house, people jumping out of her way as she moved toward the kitchen.

Kady had a lazy walk, her gait wide, her shoulders back. It was an intimidating thing to see, especially coupled with her face which perpetually looked angry. No one spoke to her and she never spoke to anyone.

Kady made herself a drink like she was someone twice her age and ignored all the glances she got, finding her way to the backyard. People had gathered around the huge, lit infinity pool. Only a few brave souls had decided to swim, the others were in groups talking, save for a small huddle which had taken up residence in lawn chairs.

She beelined for them, knocking back her drink as she approached. She hardly even winced at the taste. She was used to bitterness in one way or another and almost felt lost without discomfort.

“Hey,” she said, tapping the beanie of a boy with his back to her. He was slouched down low in the chair, a blunt burning in his hand. No one moved when she came over, no one cared, they were all lost in thick clouds of smoke.

The boy turned, looked up at her. It was the girl from the rumors, the one everyone whispered about. She was wearing fucking camo pants. Penny cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

“Are you selling?”

Penny laughed, low and croaky. “Sit.” He motioned for her to take the chair next to him, even hooked the leg with his foot and dragged it close. When Kady hesitated, Penny rolled his eyes and raised the blunt, offering it.

Kady snatched it, stepping around him to flop in the chair and take a long pull. She exhaled the smoke and passed it back, crossing her ankles as she splayed out.

“Don’t you hate everyone?” Penny asked. “I heard you hate everyone.”

“I heard the same about you.”

This drew another laugh out of Penny. “What’s your name again? Kelly?”

“Yea, sure,” she responded dryly. “Kelly.”

He knew her name. In fact he’d meant to say Kady. But his lips got confused and he gave up trying halfway through.

They’d both double dipped. The alcohol and the weed were fighting for dominance in deciding which would fuck them up first. And someone was winning.

“Parker,” Penny introduced himself, trying to save face. If she knew his name, maybe she’d assume he was joking all around and not that he either forgot her name or couldn’t handle his mix.

Truth was, he thought she was cute. He’d never thought about it much before tonight and he’d likely never think about it again, but it’d be a fun ending to this party, the two of them.

“You know how to roll?” he asked her, sitting up and pulling out a baggie and a pack of rolling paper. He glanced sideways to see her shake her head, her interest clearly piqued. “You wanna learn?” he questioned.

Kady sat up, her legs on either side of her chair and when Penny passed her the paper with a sprinkling of weed across the crease, their hands touched and she jumped, the paper falling into the damp grass.

“Fuck,” she started, pulling out her phone and trying to shine light into the grass, intending to pick everything up one by one. If Penny was anything like the guys her mom hung round with, he’d want every bit of it back. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Penny had pressed his lips together as long as he could but finally another laugh burst out of him and he cackled. Kady looked up at him as he sobered and managed not to jump again when he pushed curls from her eyes and sat there, staring, for a long moment.

“Don’t worry about it,” Penny said, before they slammed their mouths together.

* * *

“Don’t worry about it,” Margo said into the receiver.

“Don’t get mad. You sound like your mother.”

“I’m not mad,” Margo insisted as she smoothed a hand over her cobalt blue jumpsuit. “I learned years ago to not depend on you.” She combed a hand through her fresh curls. “Stay away as long as you want.”

“Don’t destroy my house,” her father warned.

Margo slicked a crimson red lipstick across her mouth. “I’m pretty sure you have to live in the place for it to be your house,” she said. “See you next week. Maybe.”

She hung up and tossed the phone behind her where it bounced on her silk purple sheets. Margo sat down at her vanity, clicked on the lights and stared at her reflection.

Behind her boasted a four-poster bed with a white canopy, the bars silver and brass like the knobs on her nightstand, the knobs on her dresser, the knob leading into the bathroom that was the size of a reasonable flat. On her vanity sat overfull makeup cases, jewelry boxes filled to the brim with shiny, authentic pieces.

Margo picked up a necklace, felt the weight of the diamonds as she fixed it onto her neck. She smiled at herself in the mirror like she did every morning, practicing which muscles to pull to make it look real.

She pinched her cheeks until they were rosy red, cleaned the lines of her lipstick and then left the room. The party had already started downstairs, as evidenced by the noise, the stench and the mess.

“What’s up bitches?” she called down from the top of the stairs. The party became her audience as everyone turned to watch her descent. They whooped a loud, gracious cheer to their host. It wasn’t her first party, it wouldn’t be her last, and even if all she did was lay out the booze and disappear, she was a legend for it.

“Someone put a drink in my hand,” she requested, and a cup immediately appeared from somewhere. She knocked it back, tossed it wherever, stayed standing there long enough for everyone to look away, and then trudged back up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next up, detention and busts...


	5. Chapter Five - Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posters, politics and propositions....

_Present Day…_

Last period of the day was always Margo’s favorite.

It was Government and Politics. _AP_ Government and Politics, thank you very much.

Margo loved the class because she knew her shit and so got to spend the whole period correctly answering every question Mrs. Evers threw at the class in her head. Sometimes Margo’d raise her hand and answer out loud but usually she opted out.

There was antagonism that was worth the extra effort and then there was antagonism that was useless, not worth it, no fucking thank you.

Raising your hand to answer and piss off the overeager hypes in the room was one example of such antagonism. Especially when the overeager hypes were Julia Wicker and Alice Quinn.

They hated each other’s fucking guts.

Margo couldn’t stand either of them but it was more than amusing to watch the pissing contest, the display of absolute headassery between two insufferable, textbook headasses. It was like a reality show or a car crash; it was tragic and fascinating to watch, but mostly you were just glad it wasn’t you. 

“Last week we reviewed the process of passing a law,” Mrs. Evers began. “Including the discussion of the situations in which the president’s veto on a bill is rendered inconsequential. What fraction do we need-?”

Alice’s hand beat Julia’s in the air and together they scared down the small smattering of other students who’d begun to raise theirs. Fingers wagged, shoulders lifted, limbs extended toward the ceiling…

Mrs. Evers sighed heavily. She was just as exhausted with them as everyone else, good students though they may be.

“Ms. Quinn?”

“Two-thirds. Two-thirds of House and Senate.”

“Correct. Now, this brings up a great discussion. Why do you think it’s important that the president’s choice is not necessarily paramount?”

Two hands in the air, a third raising boldly.

Mrs. Evers’ brows raised; relief evident on her face. “Margo.” Julia and Alice’s lips tightened to straight lines.

“Yea. It’s because of democracy. Or at least the idea of it. You don’t want some power-hungry Casanova doing whatever the hell he pleases. Under the guise of democracy, everyone gets a voice. Though let’s be honest, the government may as well be run by fuc- frickin talking bears at this point.”

Mrs. Evers chuckled. “Nice observation. A bit cynical but good. Now, whether you share Margo’s opinion or you think differently, I’ll look forward to reading about your take in a 10 – yes _10_ – page essay on how _you_ would run a government, should the opportunity arise.”

Julia raised a hand. “Current governmental architecture withstanding?”

“No. Completely from scratch. Build your government but, if you will, try and make it at least a bit realistic? Maybe no talking bears.” The bell rang shrilly, marking the end of the school day. “Alright, due on the third of next month! That’s two weeks! Have a good weekend, everyone!” she dismissed.

Julia was slow packing up, taking time to fish out the piece of paper she’d tucked away in her pocket and the stapler she’d stowed away in her bag. Quentin had already agreed to stay after school and help her check that Todd had hung all her posters up in the optimal places around campus. If they were askew or in a cluster on the wrong side of the building, they’d need to be rehung.

It was important that they were frequent enough to keep her on the students’ minds but not so frequent that they got sick of her. She’d done research on the whole thing. It’s why she’d printed 234 posters exactly – no more, no less.

She flashed by Alice, not pushing her but brushing down the aisle quick enough to startle the blonde. Alice glared as the brunette and her tacky suit disappeared from the classroom. She couldn’t tell you why they hated each other, just that Julia started it. Years ago, when nothing mattered and the world felt much smaller than it was, the two had played together and bonded over the then unnamed feeling of neglect.

Alice heaved her heavy bag onto her back and straightened her dress, smoothing the white collar down. Mrs. Evers offered her a smile as she passed, earning a brief wave from Alice.

The halls were still fairly busy but emptier than usual, most students having rushed out as soon as the bell rang. The cacophony of lockers slamming and feet scrambling was a sweet sound at the day’s end. Especially on a Friday with the promise of the weekend ahead.

Even Alice could be happy about it, though she’d be doing this weekend what she did every weekend which was homework, an Alanis Morrissette CD on repeat and then maybe she’d start a new book or Netflix show.

That is, if her parents didn’t have one of their elaborate parties planned. Alice’d had many years to become good at tuning out the raucous laughter and grating music but still, it was always better when she didn’t have to wear her headphones or find an excuse to leave the house.

The halls were nearly bare by the time Alice made it to her locker on the bottom floor. She’d just closed it, silently celebrating the deposit of several heavy textbooks inside, when she spotted Todd looking disheveled as he rounded the corner.

He was struggling to not let his bag slip down off his shoulder as he walked while also holding a stapler, a stack of paper, what looked to be a Shakespearean bust and a pile of clothes.

Alice hurried over, grabbing the bust just before it hit the floor. Todd’s eyes drifted closed as he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he said. Alice held onto it while Todd somehow managed to get his locker open. A feather boa and a pair of handcuffs fell out onto the floor. At the look on Alice’s face, Todd pushed out a nervous laugh and kicked the items from sight.

“It’s for the Drama Club,” he explained. “They’re doing _Rent_.” Alice held out the bust for him to take. “Thanks again. Oh, fuuuudge,” he drew out, seeing what was stacked on his top shelf. He emptied his things into his locker and then turned, holding up the papers apologetically.

“I’m so sorry. I only hung up half of your posters. I had so many other things to do and then…you know, _class_,” he explained.

Alice opened her mouth to speak but Todd held up a hand, the fear of Penny in him, and went on.

“But you know what? I can- If you want, I can stay after school. You know, after Drama and soccer practice and Yearbook and French Club,” he listed. “You know, after-after-after school,” he finished, eyes distant as he thought about his to-do list. His weekend would be a millisecond long at this rate.

“Todd,” Alice started, taking the pages. “It’s fine. I was always going to hang them myself anyway. Thank you,” she smiled tightly, knowing she’d done the right thing but also really just wanting to go home.

“Really?” he asked. “You’ll tell Penny I offered?” Alice nodded.

“You’re a life saver,” he praised, finally smiling, a visible weight leaving his shoulders. “You know what, you have my vote.” He paused, eyes wide. “Don’t tell Margo I said that.”

Todd skittered off as Alice searched her bag for the mini-stapler she had and, with a heavy sigh, set to work finding places to hang her posters where Margo, Eliot and Julia hadn’t already hung theirs.

* * *

“Orloff-Diaz?”

Kady raised a hand with an eyeroll as Ms. Sunderland marked her as present. There were only four other luckies to be saddled with Friday detention.

Five.

Ten minutes late, Penny sauntered into the room and placed a chocolate bar in front of Ms. Sunderland, offering her a winking smirk on his way to a desk.

The red growing in Sunderland’s cheeks drew another eye roll from Kady as she, with narrowed eyes, watched Penny make his way to the back row with her and take a seat a few desks over. Catching her stare, Penny raised a brow, inviting her to call him out.

She flipped her messy curls so they shielded her face from view and went back to trying to get some homework out of the way. It was useless though. She was still worrying over the light bill due Monday.

Her mother’d finally answered the phone when she called during lunch, offering a sloppy excuse but at least letting Kady know she’d found her way home. Kady’d only gotten a muttered swear when she reminded her about the bill which usually meant she’d forgotten and Kady could expect that the bill might be paid by Tuesday but her mother would be MIA again soon. That was the cycle. Nothing got done without sacrifice.

No money without her mother’s sketchy means of getting it, no job when you keep coming late, or oversleeping because your schedule is often at the mercy of your mother’s impulses.

A note brushed Kady’s arm as it jumped onto her desk. Penny just motioned with his chin for her to read it when she turned to glare at him. With pursed lips, Kady unfolded the tiny square of paper and read the two words Penny’d written.

_You smoke?_

Any other day, she’d have drawn a very detailed doodle of herself flipping Penny off, but today…today, in the midst of all her drama, he was the best thing that’d happened all week.

With effort, Kady turned to offer Penny a less venomous and more alluring smirk, good enough to rival his own and he returned it, the two entering a silent agreement, both now counting the minutes until they could huddle together behind the school gym and fade away for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next up one of my fave chapters so far...


	6. Chapter Six - Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bestie bonding and carving cuteness...

_Sophomore Year, 2 Years Earlier…_

Here’s the curse of Eliot Waugh: He’s always known who he was.

He’d skipped the whole journey of self-discovery and went straight to the part with the self-loathing. Self-loathing because he knew himself inside and out, every dark, strange bit, and he knew he could never really change it.

He also knew that in no way did it align with who his family was and what they needed and wanted him to be. And he knew it never would align.

So he said fuck you to them in every way and at every chance he got from a very young age because, though he didn’t need it, they’d never waited for Eliot to figure out who he was, they just dismayed when he refused to fit into the boxes they’d planned for him before he ever even drew a breath.

Here’s who Eliot is, who Eliot has always been: A boy who liked boys. A boy who never had enough. A boy who loved love and also hated love and also craved it. A boy who loved ruining things for himself before the universe got the chance. A boy who was fiercely loyal, even if it hurt him, even if it meant he was never happy.

So here’s the thing about Eliot’s Thing for Quentin.

It was Alice’s fault.

Best friend Alice. Only friend Alice. Alice who never blinked an eye at anything Eliot said or did, never judged him, never pitied him, never questioned him, never minded that he practically lived in her room because he hated his home. Alice who deserved his loyalty.

Alice who had a Thing for the floppy haired Fillory freak and, like a disease, had infected Eliot as well.

She talked about him incessantly. The majority of the time, if Alice was talking at all, it was about Quentin. Quentin did this today, he wore that, he said this, did you notice how he did that, what do you think about Quentin doing this?

Of course, the thing about Alice’s obsession is that it was _Alice’s_ obsession which meant she had never come out and done the emotional thing of actually _calling_ it a crush. But Eliot didn’t need to hear the words, she had the Alice equivalent of stars in her eyes every time she saw Quentin.

Eliot thought it was cute.

He could see them working. They were both nerds, both yearning, unfulfilled, restrained messes whose worst enemies were themselves and who saw in a rainbow nothing but the still clearing cloudy skies.

He could see it. Eliot was firmly on Team Quentin and Alice.

Until, he started to _get it_.

Until, on his friend’s behalf, he started to watch Quentin, too.

This is the guy my best friend might end up with?

Okay, so maybe he does do that thing really cutely, okay so maybe he did look really nice when he wore that, it _was_ pretty funny when he said that, I _did_ notice that, I _have_ thought this…

He fell for Quentin by accident, he fell for Quentin through Alice’s eyes and through Alice’s words. But in the end, it didn’t matter how he fell, because he had fallen – hard.

And it was fucking annoying.

“This was a bad idea,” Alice said, pacing the study now that Quentin and Julia’s footsteps had faded far away. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Eliot sat down in the brown leather beast of a chair and spun around once. “He’s the one puking, why are _you_ panicking?”

Alice paused and swiped a chunk of hair behind her ear. “Who said it was about him?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. Pretend I Don’t Have A Crush on Quentin was his least favorite game that Alice played. Half because it stung a bit that she didn’t trust him enough to spill and half because listening to Alice talk about Quentin was the only time Eliot got to indulge in his reverence for the boy in public and he hated being deprived.

“You. You say it’s about him every time you launch into one of your daily Quentin recap tangents,” Eliot said, opening the drawers on the desk, fishing around and pulling out a letter opener.

“Tangents?” Alice repeated. Her stomach dropped. If Eliot knew, who else knew? “They’re not daily and they’re not tangents and they don’t mean anything,” she said, resuming her pacing.

“You’re gonna send me into an early grave.” Eliot watched her pace for a bit, blonde hair flying to and fro, pink skirt billowing, sleeveless black top he’d talked her into showing off the smooth skin of her arms. She was pretty. It killed Eliot that he was the only one in the room who believed it.

Eliot hated seeing strong people be broken down and stifled by life, and certainly couldn’t bear seeing them do it to themselves.

He pushed back from the desk and avoided her as he walked to the door and locked it.

“What are you doing?” Alice stopped pacing long enough to ask.

Eliot didn’t respond. He just beelined for the glass case against the wall, behind which sat a slew of liquor bottles. No doubt it was all pristinely aged, ridiculously expensive product but the idiots hadn’t bothered to lock the case so now it was soon to be devalued pristinely aged product.

Eliot grabbed a random bottle of dark liquid, scooped up Alice’s hand and dragged her to the desk where he ducked underneath and then waited for her to join him. It was spacious, enough room for them to sit at opposite ends with their legs outstretched and still wiggle their feet.

“Eliot?” Alice asked as he took her cup and poured a generous amount before doing the same for himself.

“You like Quentin Coldwater,” he said finally, casually. Alice’s face pinched and unpinched a dozen times before she settled on a forced look of offense.

“_You_ like Quentin Coldwater,” she spat back and it was meant to be a childish taunt but it was true and so a burst of cool relief and pleasure exploded in Eliot’s chest just hearing the words out loud.

“Al,” Eliot said with a leveled gaze.

The war that waged behind Alice’s eyes was so dark and devastating, you’d think she’d been sentenced to death.

“How do you know?” she whispered with a broken voice. Eliot reached forward, cradled her chin in his hand, steadied its trembling.

“It’s always been obvious. Only to me though, I think,” he added to calm her. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Eliot, stop,” she scoffed. She took his hand off her face but stayed holding it in her lap. “It’s not that simple. He doesn’t like me. He’s in love with Julia Wicker.”

Eliot let his head fall back against the desk. “Boys are…complicated. And stupid enough to be capable of both,” he said. “He likes you.”

Eliot knew this because he’d seen, for many years, Quentin give Alice the same looks she’d given him when he wasn’t looking, the same looks he gave Eliot in dreams. And hide it though Quentin had tried, Eliot’d also seen the Great Sandwich Gifting of Sixth Grade and had heard the full saga several times from Alice.

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“But what the fuck if I’m right?” he asked. “Which I know I am. Which I always am. Which you know I always am.”

“Not always,” she said, smiling her muted Alice smile. Eliot smirked back, knowing they were thinking about the same thing. Eliot’s bad decision to go blond in eighth grade which led to his necessity to shave his head in ninth. Alice had tried to talk him out of it the entire time she stood applying the bleach to his head but Eliot’s sure declaration that he knew what he was doing spurred her on until he dried off and looked as if he’d poured an entire pack of ramen noodles on his head and found half his hair had come off in the towel.

“More often than not, I’m right,” he amended, playing with her fingers. “I know boys. That much we can agree on.”

The string of older ones he’d known over the years made that a true enough fact. If he ever wanted to waste time with someone, he was always spoiled for choice.

“What would I do?” Alice asked. “_If_ I did anything.”

Eliot’s answer was what _he_ would have done, but he always thought Alice could use a bit more of him in her anyway.

“Kiss him. Tonight.” He reached up, over the side of the desk and felt around until he found the letter opener. “Let sweet nerd love bloom.”

“I can’t just kiss him, Eliot.”

“Why not?” he questioned while he began etching an E into the underside of the desk.

“What are you doing?” Alice asked as wood chips fell between her feet. “And what if he doesn’t want to kiss me?”

Eliot finished his work and then offered the letter opener to Alice. “Well, go find out at least.” Alice stared at the tool and then what Eliot had done to the table and only when he pushed it at her again did she take the opener and crawl forward to put her initial beside his. Eliot smiled.

“What if he rejects me?” Alice asked, tilting her head to avoid the falling debris. “What if everyone sees?”

Eliot sighed. “One day, Alice, you’ll realize that none of these fucks matter. You’re not destined for anything that’s gonna keep you in this city and by the time they get their heads out of their asses and realize the brilliance that you are, you’re gonna be far the fuck away from here.”

Alice stopped and looked at him. She hated what a habit it was to search frantically for sincerity in every compliment.

Her A done, she dropped the opener and squeezed in beside Eliot, leaning her head against his shoulder. His arms came up and around her, his chin rested atop her head and both of their eyes fell closed.

This was one of the puzzle pieces of their friendship.

Eliot went all out, Alice reined him in. Alice met a standstill, Eliot pushed her on. All Alice wanted sometimes was to be held and all Eliot wanted sometimes was to hold someone.

“Thank you,” Alice said against the fabric of his vest.

“For what?” he whispered into her hair.

“Being my friend,” Alice said. “I know I don’t make it easy.”

“And _I_ do?”

“You’re charismatic. And amazing,” Alice argued. “You’re the one who’s destined to get out of here. You don’t even make sense in this town. You belong somewhere bright. And glamorous.”

“I am a walking party trick,” Eliot said, his eyes opening to stare up at their initials. “Anyone who’s ever stopped to watch the show can tell you that. I’ll wear off my novelty. But, you, Kitten,” he said, pulling back to look at her. “If _I_ love you – picky Me, deservedly high standards Me – then Quentin Coldwater doesn’t stand a chance.” Alice’s eyes juggled between Eliot’s, glassy and unsure, even as a tickle of a smile touched her lips. “And if,” Eliot began again. “By some miracle he doesn’t love you, then it’s fine. Because I will never stop.”

“You’re not a party trick,” Alice said as her heart beat hard in her chest because she was desperately close to believing his words. “I love you too,” she promised and it was a salve to some deep wound on Eliot’s soul to hear it.

These words had never been traded between the two before and it wasn’t lost on either of them that all the trepidation that sometimes got between them was absent when they spoke them. They said it with gusto and volume. _I’m not sure about many things and I care for even less. But I know this._ _I love you._

“This is a decidedly sappy conversation for us,” Alice noted.

“I’ve thrown up about three times in my mouth.”

Alice laughed. A real, bubbly giggle of a laugh.

And then she sobered. Dug her teeth into her lip. “I’ll do it.”

Eliot was happy and sad. “Kiss Quentin?”

“If I’ll still have you, I’ll do it.”

Eliot hated how much he liked the dependence. He hated how nothing felt real unless it was end of the line, cry for you, die for you love and even then it was too shaky to stand on with both feet.

“Finish your drink,” he instructed. “Have another. And then go take care of your fucking business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need more canon Alice and Eliot scenes. Who are your favorite besties in the story so far? I have a soft spot for these two.
> 
> Sorry for the delay. Life happened. Thanks for reading! Next up: rivals and revelations... Also, happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating. I'll be eating pizza.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't tag all the ships this will *likely* touch on cause that would be a mess but I'm hoping to explore all combinations with the goal that either platonically or romantically, they all love each other at the end. Sound good?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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